


To Not Being There In Time

by Electronicyouthjellyfish



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electronicyouthjellyfish/pseuds/Electronicyouthjellyfish
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Clint Barton & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark & Thor, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, potentially - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	To Not Being There In Time

It’s an idle Tuesday during a relatively uneventful week (they’ve all learned to appreciate those), and Tony finds Bruce walking down the hallway, a packed duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Are we going somewhere?” Tony says, falling into step beside him. “Hopefully it’s someplace warm, because I could use some sun.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Bruce replies, his voice flat. 

“You can use my plane,” Tony replies, not missing a beat, and Bruce watches him out of the corner of his eye. “No questions asked.”

“So you can follow me later?” 

Tony shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do that. You’ve more than earned your privacy.” He pushes his purple tinted sunglasses further up his nose. 

“Thanks, but the train will be fine,” Bruce responds, quietly touched by Tony’s gesture.

Tony nods and follows him through the halls, their steps in sync. “Anyway, if I wanted to know where you were going, I would have just asked.”

“So why don’t you?” When Tony doesn’t respond, he clarifies, “Ask. Why don’t you just ask?” Why is he pushing this? It’s not like he wants anyone to know where he’s going, to ask why he has to disappear once a year, on the anniversary of his mother’s murder.

“Because it’s none of my business.” Tony stops outside the living room and rests his hand on Bruce’s arm. “Have a drink with me before you go.”

Bruce eyes the hallway that will lead him to the exit that will take him away. Tony has been a good friend; better than he’s had in years. The best he can remember, really. Tony has treated him like a person, like a scientist and a friend, instead of a horrible laboratory experiment gone wrong. Tony is fascinated not only by Hulk, but by the man underneath, by Bruce Banner himself. He’s been good to Bruce’s green alter ego, the only one willing to get close and stay close sometimes, even without wearing his armor, the only one willing to stick around when Bruce has struggled to change back.

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees because his train doesn’t leave for another hour anyway. He trails Tony into the living room and drops his bag on the coffee table that’s, for once, actually in the middle of the living room rather than pushed to the side. “One drink.”

“Good,” Tony says and pulls two tumblers from the mahogany cabinet. He pours a generous amount of expensive single malt scotch into both glasses and passes one to Bruce, who raises his eyebrow. He hasn’t drank in years and there’s a good reason for that, but it’s just one drink, and Tony, who would never judge him, is the only one here. Tony taps his glass against Bruce’s. “To science.”

Bruce mumbles his agreement and winces as the warm, forgotten taste of liquor slides down his throat. He follows Tony to the couch, resting against the arm of the sofa rather than sitting down because he doesn’t plan on staying long. 

Tony is leaning forward, one finger idly tracing at the rim of the glass as he stares across the room. “To strategic retreat,” he says as he knocks his glass against Bruce’s half-full tumbler. Bruce nearly spills his drink all over Tony’s expensive carpet. He manages to get a grip on the glass and throws back the rest, trying not to cough as it burns its way down his throat.

“Strategic retreat?” Bruce asks after he brushes his arm over his mouth, watching as Tony pulls himself off the couch and stalks over the liquor cabinet. He pours himself another glass, returning with the bottle this time.

“To not being there in time,” Tony says and throws his glass back, swallowing down the contents in one go. He reaches out and turns the bottle slowly, and Bruce shoves his glass underneath the pouring liquid in an effort to save the couch that probably costs more than he makes in a year. Somehow, even without looking, Tony manages to pour the perfect two fingers of liquor. 

Bruce’s belly is warm, and he seizes the moment, for once speaking without thinking about it first. “To being too young to do anything about it,” Bruce says, closing his eyes before he swallows the liquor in one go. He slides down onto the couch, takes the bottle from Tony’s lax fingers, and leans forward to refill his glass.

“To being old enough to know better and young enough not to care,” Tony says. Bruce nods his agreement and they swallow in unison.

Clint and Natasha walk into the room and survey the scene silently. The only change in their position is a couple of raised eyebrows and a nod. Natasha takes the bottle from Bruce, refills his glass along with Tony’s, before taking a glass for herself and Clint. They never ask what the occasion is.

“To everyone I couldn’t save,” Bruce mumbles as he downs the shot. It doesn’t burn any longer, and that’s usually a signal to a sensible person that it’s time to stop.

“To everyone we couldn’t save,” Tony amends, knocking his glass against Bruce’s empty one before he chugs it in one go, Natasha and Clint doing the same.

Bruce slides further down the couch, and he feels Clint playing with his shoes laces. A second later he’s drawing his sock-covered feet up and pressing them against Tony’s thigh. Tony’s hand falls to his ankle, and he drops his head on the couch, staring forward.

“To the fight,” Natasha says, and she and Clint take a drink together.

“And living to do it again tomorrow,” Clint parries after she refills their glasses. They catch up quickly, bodies soon succumbing to the alcohol as much as being trained assassins allows.

Natasha is nestled between Clint’s legs on the floor, leaning back against his chest as Bruce casually strokes her soft hair. It’s better than yoga.

Steve wanders in, breathing deeply and no doubt smelling the heavy scent of alcohol. “It’s only four o’clock.”

Tony abruptly raises his glass in the air, effectively cutting off whatever Steve’s about to say, and announces, “To never getting the timing right.” They all silently raise their glasses and pour the liquor back.

Steve, however out of time he might be, manages to at least do something right when he goes to the cabinet and pours himself a glass of whiskey, even if he won’t feel the effects. “To solidarity.” Everyone raises their glasses.

Bruce is slumped over the arm of the couch, head titled back and staring at the clock across the room. “I’ve missed my train.”

Tony leans forward, taking the bottle of scotch and refilling their tumblers. “We already drank to not getting the timing right. No do-overs.”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees, because Tony’s really making a lot of sense right now. “To actually getting the timing right.”

“Hell yes,” Clint agrees, and they all drink to that.

Because the day couldn’t possible get any weirder, it’s Steve who refills their glasses, albeit not as liberally as Tony would. Luckily they’re all too drunk to notice, and Tony is too comfortable to protest.

“To family,” Steve says, and they all drink, each remembering a loved one they lost far too early.

It’s Thor, who appears out of nowhere with a glass of Asgardian ale in his hand, who summarizes it the best: “To the family you pick for yourself.”

“Yes,” Bruce agrees before he tips his glass back, swallows, and slumps forward, head landing on Tony’s shoulder, all thoughts of leaving forgotten.

They all stick around to finish the bottle. When it’s gone, they still remain.


End file.
